“Why do you laugh?” Finartion called to her.
“I did not laugh,” she denied his claim from inside the tent, slowly peeking out so she was visible to the audience.
“But you did laugh. I know even your thoughts.”
“But how should I bear Abraham a son? I am nearly ninety years old; I am much too old.”
“Nothing is too difficult for your Lord. You will bear a son for Abraham, my chosen vessel, at the appointed time.”
Finartion turned to Abraham and told him, “We must go now. I will not hide my actions from you; you are destined to be a great and mighty nation.
“There is great wickedness in the nearby cities. I must go there and judge them. I will destroy the evil cities; the prayers and pleas of their victims have risen to God above and I must destroy their wickedness.”
Yavim and Yarrow went back into the tent as the three men departed. Then, another scene change and Jibbin ran onto the set.
“Father, father,” he yelled and ran up to give Abraham a hug.
“Oh, Isaac,” he said. “I thank God every day for you since your birth. Now, come, it is time for sleeping.”
Once all of the actors were inside the tent, Haisauce spoke again through the horn. “Abraham…Abraham, wake up.”
Abraham came out of the tent and called out, “Here I am, Lord.”
“Abraham, do you love me?”
“Of course, my God.” Yavim did an excellent job, speaking to no one in particular as if he were really conversing with some invisible, supernatural being.
“What would you give me to prove your love… your ultimate love?”
“You know my heart, Lord. I would give you anything. I love you above all.”
“I want you to give me your son, Isaac, who you waited for and who you love beyond measure.”
“Of course, my God. He is yours. I consecrate him for you; he will carry out our covenant… and all of his descendants after him.”
“No, Abraham. In the morning, you will take your only son and go to the land of Moriah. You will offer him to me as a burnt sacrifice on a mountain where I direct you.”
Silent moments passed. Abraham’s jaw agape, his eyes welled up as he looked at the tent beside him and sunk to his knees.
The crowd hushed slightly. They had become familiar with these sorts of dictates and bloody sacrifices under the oppression of the Gathering.
“My Lord?” His voice nearly cracked.
“Only with the ultimate sacrifice can your ultimate love be proven.”
Yavim bent over. His face on the ground, he wept for a few moments until Yarrow opened the tent flap and stepped out.
“Have you been out here all night?” she asked.
Rising to his feet, he went over to her. Pulling her close, he hugged her tight.
“What is it, Abraham?”
He whispered into her ear. An extremely pained look of disbelief passed across the actress' face. He continued to whisper in her ear until it turned into a look of resignation.
Letting go, he called out to the boy. “Isaac. Isaac, come out here.”
“Here I am,” cried Jibbin as he jumped out of the tent.
Rashnir watched him. He proved undaunted by the crowd of people that had seated themselves around the area to watch the production. Rashnir smiled proudly at the little boy’s courage.
“Isaac, we must go on a journey.”
“Is it far?”
“No, not terribly so. We must go to sacrifice to our God. You remember what I always say about God?”
“Our sacrifices prove our loyalty?”
“Yes, my son. That is it; to obey the eternal laws we must shed blood; that is what has always been required to prove our allegiance to Him.”
“Shall I get a lamb, father?”
He hugged the boy. “No, Isaac, God will provide a sacrifice.”
Yarrow ran and hugged the boy tightly. As she squeezed him, Yavim picked up a bundle of sticks from beside the tent.
She relinquished Jibbin and disappeared behind the tent. Yavim and Jibbin wandered to the edge of the set. As they did so, the stagehands quickly collapsed the tent and put down two potted, scrubby trees in place of it.
Pointing towards the shrubs, Abraham said, “We will worship God over there.”
Rashnir glanced at the crowd. Many of the people followed the tale closely. The language used thus far had been vague enough to include God Yahweh as the deity if not some member of the Gathering’s pseudo-pantheon. Many similarities existed between the account of this story and demonic sacrifice traded for blessings. Nindans, especially, understand the tale; many Luciferian priests performed ceremonies to ensure demonic blessing on farmlands, ceremonies that often required the blood of a child. Regardless of familiarity, that did not make such a sacrifice easy.
The two actors approached center stage again, coming back to where they started. Yavim laid the bundle of sticks down on the ground. Drawing his knife, he cut the cord that bound them and then laid them out.
“Isaac, my beloved son, do you love God?”
“With all of my life.”
“Isaac, God commanded me to sacrifice you.”
“Daddy?”
“Son, do you love our God?”
Isaac hugged Abraham. He repeated, “Our sacrifices prove our loyalty.”
“My son,” he embraced him back, then scooped him into his arms and laid him upon the sticks.
Yavim raised the dagger high above his head. He closed his tearful eyes and tensed to strike. The crowd stiffened.
“Abraham, Abraham! Wait,” bellowed Haisauce. “Here I am! Do not sacrifice your son. I have tested you and see that you would not withhold even your only son from me. You have proven your love.
“Because you were willing to bless me with your sacrifice, I will bless you eternally and multiply you. Your seed will possess the gate of our enemies.”
A stagehand shooed a lamb through the potted brush.
“See, Abraham, I have provided a sacrifice.”
Rashnir noticed several moist eyes. He assumed that some of those who seemed most deeply moved by the story may have been folks who underwent the similar, Luciferian rituals, but did not receive as merciful of a benediction from the deity commanding the rite.
***
Kevin wandered back towards his tent where it stood pitched in the market square. He meandered through the rest of his brethren’s dwellings. Joy bounced his steps and he hummed a tune as he came back from ministering to the townsfolk. During his presentation of the Gospel message, Havara told his personal faith story; it sparked such an interest that whatever remained of the village pledged to seek this savior for themselves.
It made him smile to know that even those who couldn’t come to grips with the concept of conversion had sworn to search out their beliefs. Even the non-proselytes devoted themselves to upholding those who did.
In the back of his mind, Kevin’s thoughts turned towards his intense curiosity about the sudden visitor in their midst. The angels had immediately viewed the creature as a threat and carted him off for interrogation.
As his thoughts hovered over the issue, Kevin spotted Kyrius coming to greet him. The angel had his usual smile on his face and Kevin returned one in kind. Kyrius’s smile quelled any worries that the preacher might have held about their visitor.
“It has been a success,” Kevin informed him of the preaching outreach.
“I know,” the angel replied. “I can feel their rejoicing in my spirit.”
“Then… you have news of your own?”
“Yes. Jorge and I have interrogated this demon. He has provided us with a detailed history of himself. He is… something of an anomaly.”
“How so?”
“Well, ekerithia was once a rather powerful angel, certainly more powerful than me or Jorge, probably even moreso than any of those who rule over the Gathering—at least at the time of
the fall. We don’t exactly know who is a member of that council at this point, demonic alliances being what they are; according to Dri'bu, there seemed to be a coup forming about the time we entered the kakos.
“Anyhow, before the fall ekerithia was seated above beh’-tsah. Things change, though—and the odd thing is how ekerithia has changed so very little.
“He possesses very few of those traits common to other demons, such as the ugliness that they inherited. He still resembles one of our kind. Even under the holy light of the Logos, one could barely discern the difference. His appearance did not corrupt, except for a vacant look in his eyes and a mark upon his face. He claims to have abstained from all sin and destruction since the fall; he even claims to be remorseful for it.”
“Wow. That is odd for a demon.”
Kyrius nodded. “I can understand his position, though. Angels are not automatons. Lucifer courted a great many of us during his insurrection. Some were harder to sway than others… some couldn’t be moved at all, but I imagine that some of those who gave in to his persuasions immediately wished that they had resisted.”
Kevin asked, “As did ekerithia?”
“According to his story, yes. Since then, he has wandered the lands for millennia, alone, resenting that decision each and every day. He foreswore corrupting God’s children and so he has waited and watched… looking for an opportunity.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For knowledge—either of judgment or to redemption. He is a little obsessed with the subject in fact. He remembers the promise of the Logos: of Christ’s redeeming grace. Most demons have forgotten about it or else completely discounted the promises of the Logos. ekerithia has, for thousands of years, clung to a false hope.”
“So what are we to do with him?”
“There is a certain nobility left within him. We plan to release him; he promised to keep away from tempting and corrupting men.”
Kevin tapped his chin thoughtfully, wondering about the trustworthiness of a fallen angel.
“If he hasn’t acquired a taste for it by now,” Kyrius offered, “I don’t know that he’d suddenly develop it now.”
“Would it be possible for me to speak with him, do you think?”
“Yes. In fact, he requested it.”
Kevin nodded. He followed Kyrius’ leading down the city street to the place where Jorge detained the fallen creature. Kevin shuddered; though the night was still warm, it felt like the temperature dipped slightly as they drew near.
A small campfire lit the place where Jorge guarded ekerithia. Jorge stood and the other sat in a patient, cross-legged position. Kyrius and the preacher moved to the fire and Kevin sat opposite the flames from their guest while Kyrius stood a step behind his friend.
For a few moments, neither said anything but merely studied each other as the fire popped and the flames danced. At last, ekerithia smiled wryly.
“You asked to speak with me.” Kevin leaned forward.
He nodded. “I wonder if you might carry a message for me. It would seem appropriate since you are the Lord’s appointed messenger for this plane.”
“A message?”
“Yes. Just a simple thing, really.”
Kevin raised an eyebrow.
“I wish…” he hung his head low as his words trailed off. Long hair obscured his face, but the others could feel his emotions breaking. “Will you tell our Lord that I am truly sorry? I know that it will not matter, but this is my one request. I am sure that it will appear to be the least selfish act that I will have committed by the time the end arrives.”
“I will,” Kevin said. “And what will become of you?”
“Well, I am sure that you can deduce my fate. In the meantime, there is just one thing that I want to experience in the last few years left to me, and I will settle for whatever false version of it I can accomplish.” The creature stood to his feet.
“What is that?”
“I will obey the long-denied exhortations of my soul. I will stop resisting that powerful urge I have battled for so long. The seed that hay-lale’ planted within me before your ancestors were cast from the garden will finally blossom.”
“Seed?”
“The great desire. The driving passion within all of my kind.” His skin seemed to pale further as he made his proclamation, ekerithia’s voice took on a kind of harmonic taint and his eyes fully clouded with inky black. “I will become a god.”
As he uttered those words, a sound like metal wind chimes tinkled. Feathers fell from under his cloak, metallic and heavy, yet somehow supernaturally supple. The shed feathers clinked as they slid down his backside, detaching slowly from his wings, creating the notes to a musical lament for the lost one.
ekerithia glanced at his feet where a growing pool of feathers accumulated around him like autumn leaves. He looked to Kevin with a glint of terror in his eyes. Then a hardened resolve took them over.
“It has begun, then.” He turned to depart.
“Wait, ekerithia.” Kevin stopped him. “Can you do me a favor, now? Do you know where the Christian remnant is?”
“Yes. I know a great deal about them. It was, of course, a major interest of mine, for many years. But I always knew that they could not help me.”
“Where are they?” Kevin spoke full of excitement at the prospect.
“I do not think that it is in my best interests to divulge all of my information, so freely. I have my own plans to think about, now. What I will tell you, is that not even I would go where they are, and even the demons of the Gathering must act with caution when walking into that place.”
“What? You won’t tell me anything else?”
“Only that I shall hold to my earlier promise. I will rise above in this realm, as a god, and yet I will not lead mankind further astray.” He turned to Jorge and Kyrius. “Keep him alive, former brothers. He carries an important message for me.”
With that, ekerithia turned and walked away into the darkness, withdrawing from the flickering light for good. Feathers trailed behind him as the last vestiges of apparent glory fled.
***
Rashnir froze in his tracks. He’d only led his team of actors half-way into Schworick for their final act when he spotted trouble dead ahead. Three women barred the path to the village. At the forefront of the trio stood Ly’Orra with her weapons drawn; two other women, similarly clad, stood by her side.
Zeh-Ahbe’ flashed Rashnir a look of warning. He measuredly nodded his head, acknowledging the danger. He stepped out from the group and bobbed his head towards the village, indicating that they should continue on without him.
The werewolf led his group of comrades towards the village by a different path. Paying them little attention, the warrior women watched them go with relative disinterest. Rashnir waited until they were beyond reach before he stepped towards the women who wanted him dead.
He stood little chance of surviving an attack out in the open without drawing upon the Logos’ power. The warrior did not feel that the timing was right for that quite yet… he did not want to jeopardize today’s drama and preaching by using such an obvious weapon so soon.
Off to the side of the road sprouted a thick grove of trees that shaded the grounds of an old cemetery. He angled towards it as he walked towards his opponents.
They matched his vector, maintaining eye contact. Rashnir suddenly broke rank and fled for the cover of the grave markers as the women sprinted towards him in order to intercept.
Rashnir leapt headlong over the wrought iron fence which cordoned off the burial grounds. Ducking into a roll, he came up on his feet and slipped behind a large cenotaph just in time to avoid the two arrows. The missiles clattered against the monuments erected in honor the dead and buried elsewhere.
He checked the inscription of the stone he hid behind as he called out. “Three versus one is not very honorable, Ly’Orra.” Rashnir glanced around him, all of the tombs and headstones here we
re cenotaphs: headstones that honored the departed but were not buried here. His focus shifted to the grove: they were all ephay trees.
The warrior dove behind a different marker, but no missiles flew by. His words must have struck her pride. Peeking out, Rashnir spotted the three women approaching slowly and cautiously.
Launching into a run, Rashnir headed for the trees. He might be able to use the ephay defensively… or the carnivorous trees might kill him. His hope was that he could stalemate his opposition and force them to reason with him.
His pursuit followed closely. They stopped at the edge of the shade cast by the trees. Rashnir, raised in the region, was also familiar with the deadly plants. He jumped across the undergrowth and landed only on spots where the light reached.
Ephay trees were typically planted as a form of disposal for communities; sometimes people planted them to eliminate waste and garbage. They were deadly and especially efficient at consuming men and other creatures. It was likely that a plague had ravaged this village several decades ago—perhaps the cemetery was empty because these trees had disposed of the bodies and contained the contagion.
Rashnir hopped deeper into the protective buffer—keeping well within the shafts of light that split the canopy.
Ephay trees were quasi-sentient and shared a kind of a hive mind as the undergrowth below them connected and interwove to form a nervous system. The creep, as it was called, functioned as a kind of that the trees used to sense, or “taste” things and determine if something was edible or not. A kind of lichen that grew around the juglan protected the ephay’s fruit and helped spread the creep from fallen seeds as they baited the trees’ primary food source.
The fruit had highly addictive, pain-killing and psychotropic properties. Creep grew upon the fruit and could be felt by the tree’s sensory organs. Veins intertwined beneath the sod to connect each tree, linking into the hive mind and sending nutrients and support—digested creatures—where it was needed.
Vines of varying sizes hung about the branches. Prehensile and quick, each one brandished a sharp, clasping orifice attached to each end. The trees could strike almost anywhere with their appendages.
Rashnir’s foot faltered and a whip-like tendril lashed for the spot on the creep where his foot touched the shade. He yanked his foot back into the light before the tree could snatch him.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 68
